I don't own Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, even though that'd be fantastic. Any other characters you recognize, I don't own, either. This story has officially been disclaimed. Also, no owning of Iron Man, either.

Thanks to j.v. hearts13 for reviewing! :)

Pepper's trailing me around my workshop like a lovesick puppy, barking out my schedule every few seconds. I can't stand this, but I guess it's what I pay her for. At least, according to her it is.

"The MIT commencement speech—"

"Is next weekend," I finish, rolling my eyes. "Please, Potts, are you gonna be hassling me—"

"It's tonight." I stare at her as she pulls off an eye roll of her own. She taps her pen against a fancy new clipboard with her name inscribed on the bottom in gold lettering. A bit tacky for my taste, but, as she's reminded me before, "You're not me, Mr. Stark."

I can get myself my own clipboard, and it'll be guaranteed badass.

She shrugs and smirks at my dropped jaw. "If you had even bothered to check your schedule," she chides, "you probably would've been ready for this."

"What time is it," I begin, letting my wrench drop to the floor with a clang. Pepper opens her mouth to answer, but before she can, I finish my sentence. "JARVIS?" She glares at me and I grin deviously at her. She can't resist my grins; it's a bad thing to mention your weaknesses.

"Five twenty-three, sir."

"Pepper," I say, putting my hands in front of me like I'm praying, "what time is the MIT speech?"

"Seven."

"And how long would it take to get to MIT?"

"If you left right now?" she asks.

"Eh…in about three minutes," I decide, tilting my hand slightly.

"You don't have enough time," she tells me simply.

My eyes lock with hers. "No?"

She shakes her head, then watches as my eyes travel back to the suit. She sighs. "Tony, you're not taking that. Have you even finished fixing it yet?"

"It's close enough," I answer absentmindedly, running my hand across it. "Isn't it, JARVIS?"

Pepper turns to JARVIS before he can answer. "If you give him permission to do this, JARVIS, I'll give you a virus," she threatens lamely. She never was much for punishments. Like I need JARVIS' permission, anyway.

"What, AIDS?" I ask with a smirk. Pepper looks like she wants to slap me, but takes her anger out on her pen top instead, clicking it violently, over and over. Maybe pretending that it's my head.

"I believe I contracted that from you, sir," JARVIS deadpans.

Pepper bursts into laughter as I stare at my bitch of a robot, startled. "JARVIS!" I yelp.

"See if Rhodey can get your plane ready," she instructs, still trying to suppress her laughter.

"Isn't that your job, Miss Potts?" I ask, digging my cell phone out of my pocket and dialing Rhodey's number.

"I'm on break, Mr. Stark."

"Are you, now?"

"Yes."

"He's not answering."

Pepper shrugs. "I guess you owe MIT some money, then."

I chuckle. "Don't be ridiculous, Potts. I can fly the damn plane."

I can feel her eyes on me, and I meet them hopefully.

"I don't want to be in a plane you're flying, Tony," she tells me simply.

"Why?" I pout, stamping my foot like a five-year-old about to have a tantrum. Apparently I do this often, and it leaves a bad impression on most people. Pepper has told me to stop countless times, but it's just habit, so everyone will have to live with it.

"It's not safe. JARVIS, see if you can find another off-duty pilot."

"We're gonna be late if we wait any longer," I interject, playing with Pepper's phobia of tardiness.

She stiffens noticeably and sighs. "JARVIS, scratch that. Just watch the news for any stories on plane crashes, please. Let's go, Mr. Stark."

My eyes brighten. "Yeah?"

"Before I change my mind." She drops her clipboard onto a nearby table and treks up the stairs. I wait until she's gone before I congratulate myself with a celebratory fist pump. No doubt she'd be pissed off if I did that in front of her.

"When's the last time you flew a plane, Mr. Stark?"

I shrug. "Why?" I pause, then answer for her. "Not as bad as you thought it'd be, is it, Miss Potts?"

She doesn't answer, which I take as a positive response. "What do we have for time?"

"Six oh two."

"Where are we now?"

"Nowhere close to MIT."

"Okay, then." I accelerate the plane suddenly, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Pepper clutch the sides of her seat. "There aren't any speed limits up here!" I yelp. "It's great!"

"Tony…" she falters. "Pretend that there are, please."

A thought pops into my head as I slow down—just slightly, just for Pepper—and I can't help but feel one of those little twangs of nervousness. "Where am I supposed to land this?"

Pepper stares at me warily. "Give me my purse." I toss it back to her and she pulls out her cell phone. She mutters a few things to the person on the other line and hangs up quickly. "Logan Airport."

"Uh, how the hell am I supposed to know where that is?"

Pepper looks at me, feigning shock. "What, you mean you can't see the neon signs pointing to it?"

"Actually, no."

"We'll be able to see it when the time comes," she assures me.

"I'm quoting you on that, Potts."

"Go ahead, Stark."

I smirk to myself, and we're suddenly lost for conversation. I'm not one for awkward silences, but I can't think of anything to talk about. Suddenly, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I jump, almost hitting my head on the plane's ceiling. Pepper gasped—I heard her—but she tries to conceal it with a suave little, "Who is it?"

I glance at the caller ID then flip the phone open. "Rhodey!" I tuck the phone in between my shoulder and my right ear as I talk. "What's up?"

"Are you going to the MIT thing tonight, Tony?"

"Yeah, why?"

"How are you getting there?"

"Plane."

"Who's flying it?"

I accidentally bite my lip and swear under my breath. "I, uh…" Before I can answer fully, I can feel Pepper grab the phone away from me. I whirl around and make an attempt to get it back, but she's already got it up to her ear and is a good ten feet away from me.

"Rhodey?" She pauses and I tap my shoes against the floor impatiently. I can't stand being left out of a conversation like this: never have, never will.

"Why didn't you pick up your phone earlier?"

Oh, shit.

"He said he called you…"

The look Pepper's giving me right now is absolutely solid ice.

"Really. Okay, then. I'll just give you an overview of everything that happens when we get back. Thanks. Bye, Rhodey."

She hangs up and tosses my phone around in her hands. "You never called him," she says, her eyes glued to my phone.

"Maybe not."

She sighs like a mother who's upset at her little kid for shoving another kid's face into the sand at the playground. "Can I ask why you didn't?"

"You just did, so I guess you can."

"I guess you can answer, then."

I shrug. "Is it so bad that I wanted to be up here with just you?" She looks at me for a beat, then starts laughing. Not exactly the response I was hoping for. Something along the lines of, "Oh my God, Tony, me too! Let's make out" would've been nice, but beggars can't be choosers.

She shakes her head slightly but doesn't say anything. "Would it kill you to be responsible? Just once in your life, Tony?"

"I'm not being irresponsible here."

"Oh, you're right. You're just being stupid."

"Hey, it's not like I can't fly a plane."

"But Rhodey's a professional, Tony," she persists. "Why wouldn't you want a professional flying us to MIT?"

I open my mouth to give her my reason, but close it quickly, thinking that now isn't a good time.

She waits for my answer for a few seconds, then presses the side of her head against a window, gazing outside. The sun's glinting off her hair, and I can't help but swoon even the tiniest bit. The way her face is lit up right now, even though she's pissed off at me, is the epitome of attractiveness. Nobody has to know about this, though. It's staying here.

God damn, MIT sure knows how to throw an after party. Pepper and I are "courteously invited," and I can't say that I'd want to decline this little gem of an invite. I can't say I know where Pepper is, though, either.

I have my own chair at the bar, which just about blows my mind. Not really, but it's nice to be polite. Plus, it's got my name sewn into the fabric, and I can bring it home if I want. Can't beat that MIT hospitality.

"Mr. Stark, my name's Gloria Matherson, I'm from the school paper. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?" I turn around in my seat and take in the college girl standing behind me, her pen and notebook ready to go. She's got thick black-rimmed glasses and is kind of short—not the usual type I'd grace with an interview, but I'm feeling generous. Or maybe it's just the alcohol.

"Sure," I say, downing another gulp of my drink before placing it on the counter. "Shoot."

She looks kind of flustered now, maybe not having expected permission to continue. "What made you decide to go into weapons manufacturing?"

I bite my bottom lip and stare at her, wondering if she's serious. I can hear a light clink behind me; thinking somebody's dropped some loose change, I don't turn around.

"Uh, my parents," I stammer. "My dad."

She nods, writing down this horribly obvious answer that she could have found on Wikipedia. She glances at her watch and then tells me that she has to go. I stare at her back at she walks away, my jaw slack. I can't tell what's just happened. Finally, I just decide to turn around and finish my drink. The thing's gone in two sips and I drop my elbows on the table, my head in my hands. I wonder where Pepper is. I kind of want to go home now.

I'm about to stand up and go track Pepper down when I feel my knees buckle. As if on cue, my head starts swimming and I collapse back into my chair, grabbing onto the bar for dear life. My fingers curl around my glass and clink it weakly on the counter as I feel my head get heaver.

"Pepper," I breathe, panicked.

The last thing I see is the damn bartender shoving a pepper shaker my way.